Now You're Just Somebody That I Used To Know
by olivetree97
Summary: It's 2012. Frisky and Mannish are performing in their annual Christmas show at the KOKO theatre when a mysterious assasination of their guitarist Paul brings Sherlock Holmes to the cabaret scene. (Will probably turn to crack later) Rating may change. Friskish in later chapters.


_Okay so this was just for fun for my friend Bluey but the one-shot kind of turned into a series as I was writing it so the new chapter should be up in a few days. Sherlock meets the members of the London cabaret scene (will probably turn into crack)._

Matthew looked to his bewigged co-star as a man dressed as a dragon in a not-very-dragon-like costume ran past them holding a small Chihuahua, by the name of Mr Piffles. His eyes flicked to production manager Barry's upturned thumb beckoned them onto the small stage of the KOKO Theatre before the incredibly drunk, mainly female audience. And so their bit began.

"Well wasn't he amazing?" Laura, now playing Frisky, shouted to the audience over-enthusiastically as she strutted on before saying in a stage whisper with a mock-serious face, "Guys he has a dog, you need to applaud…"

That was his cue. Matthew ran on stage with his dormant mobile to his ear, at once becoming a flustered Mannish.

"I'm sorry but I need to interrupt the police are calling – they're saying that erm you better not cry…" he shouted, acting as if he was merely repeating another person's words at the other end of the line.

"Oh god,"

The look on Laura's face as she said it made Matthew want to break character and burst out laughing right there and then but he knew he could not and continued with the script, feigning worry.

"And that you better not pout and that **whatever you do** they're telling us now that," Matthew paused for effect, his face aghast; the crowd was already in stitches.

"What? **What?!**" Laura's facial expression was a picture if ever he saw one as she urged him to finish the bit.

"Oh god, oh god,"

"_**What?!**_"

Matthew sucked in a gallon of air and finished at a rapid pace:

"Santaclausiscomingtotown!"

He balled his hand into a fist and bit down, doing his best to look terrified. Laura gasped and looked around as if fearing for her life as the thunder of the crowd's applause filled their ears.

_**BANG.**_

Suddenly there was no applause, just the thud as their guitarist Paul fell to his knees, his instrument which he had been so jovially strumming now weighing him down. The theatre was suddenly Wimbledon, with the audience members' heads twisting from side to side faster than a hummingbird could beat its wings as they looked for the assailant. But there was no one to be seen, simply similarly horrified faces.

Matthew looked to his partner for any hope of killing the deafening silence. Luckily she was far more in control:

"Ladies and gentleman, I think Santa's on the dole at the moment and may be hiding amongst us so I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to remain seated and calm until the police arrive."

Suddenly Laura was looking to him for further instruction.

"I'm afraid all of the Bruce Airhead fans will have to wait whilst we tend to Paul," Matthew continued as paramedics rushed on with a stretcher and Paul's still-warm body was removed from view, still dripping with blood.

"So did you see anyone suspicious backstage?"

Detective Inspector Lestrade was out of his depth. He was sat in a room with an acrobatic stripper, a man in a wrestling suit that left nothing to the imagination, two catatonic band members in ridiculous Christmas jumpers, a musical comedy duo with excessive eyeliner and a man dressed in a onesie which looked like a Christmas tree, though he had been assured it was meant to be a dragon, holding a Chihuahua. And they were all wearing orange blankets. It was most-definitely the most awkward position he'd ever been in and the only thing that saved him from wanting to be swallowed by the earth on that very spot was that Sherlock Holmes would soon have to deal with the exact same situation.

It seemed that only Mr. Piffles was interested in the Lestrade's questions as he happily humped the DI's leg.

"Listen I know that you're all in shock but not a single one of that audience saw a gunman which leads us to believe that it was someone working behind the scenes. I'm sure you all want to catch Mr Norcross' killer as quickly as we do. So, Ms Corcoran, did you see anyone suspicious backstage?"

Laura looked up at him, her eyes red from crying.

"I wasn't particularly looking. I was busy being laced into my second corset of the night by Matt and then we were back on again. We didn't really look around,"

"Mr Jones, is that true?"

"Hundred percent. When we weren't changing costumes, we were waiting in the wings."

Lestrade sighed. This had seemed like a simple case to begin with – theatre assassinations were in Lincoln's day, not the twenty-first century – but now it seemed that he really would need Sherlock's help and Donovan wasn't going to like that.

As if merely the thought of Sherlock caused him to appear like a genie, Donovan appeared at the DI's side and informed him of the consulting detective's arrival.

_Please R&R - if you don't know Frisky & Mannish then you need to look them up on YouTube because they're AMAZING!_


End file.
